The alert rattled the bridge crew. Admiral Jensen was busy authoritatively giving orders to the rest of the bridge crew. Aaen observed Ensign Larsen raising the Station's shields and arming every weapon system. The truth was there was no way to 'hide' a mobile space station. Thousands of meters tall, and proportionately wide—Magellan was bound to be noticed at some point, he reasoned. An entire armada of ships . . . they almost looked more like a cloud of glowing variably-colored metal hulks than individual ships! The stars were barely visible behind the seeming wall of triqualithium! He started wondering whether or not the Station would be able to take on so many. . . Where did they get them? How? He eyed the main viewscreen, wondering if of the ships were 'commandeered'? He didn't recognize any of them, and the metal cloud was too dense to read any of the ships' names.
The bridge was abuzz with ranking personnel rushing various reports or written instructions. Aaen adjusted his position in his seat and then rested his elbows on his desk for a moment, then leaned upright to look at the sensor information—my gosh! Aaen thought, wide-eyed. The Orion armada registered almost as one-solid-object, with random intermittent minuscule gaps. Aaen's gut told him the Orions were more likely than not heading to specific coordinates, which may or may not in-fact be Magellan's. That is yet to be seen, he told himself. Regardless of wherever they're heading, they probably wanted the Vortex sensor data for a reason. But—why?. . . Unless—!
"They're closing, fast!" Lieutenant Hammond declared.
"What's their distance?"
"Five million kilometers, Captain,"
"Lieutenant Mars, are you getting anything on any of the comm channels?"
"Yeah, Captain! They're not even trying to encrypt their channels! They know we're here!. . .Maddog's on one of those ships!—"
"They'll keep him surrounded by their strongest ships, probably away from the front," Aaen suggested.
Admiral Jensen nodded acknowledgment.
"Admiral! We're being hailed!"
"By who?"
". . .Maddog!. . ."
The bridge activity froze in its tracks. The larger Spacefleet wasn't in a position to challenge an armada of pirate ships, Aaen knew and was pretty sure the senior mission commanders were equally aware of this fact, and wouldn't want to admit it with the same conviction. Aaen again eyed Lieutenant Hammond's computer screen, specifically the sensor data rapidly filling the tall rectangular information feed in the lower-right-hand corner. . . . The new passive sensor information indicated more than a thousand medium-high-power cannons and disruptors had been scanning for a target—and found it. Lieutenant Hammond made the announcement. A cold chill ran down Aaen's spine—a sensation that traveled somewhat painfully through his sides and into his arms and into his hands where it gradually dissipated. The seemingly green mass at the top of Lieutenant Hammond's screen was gradually getting closer to the small dot in the center of the circular readout. Aaen sensed the entire bridge crew was panning their attention, now, to the main viewscreen, and Admiral Jensen. . .anxiously waiting for her answer. There was a reason why no-one deliberately went anywhere near the Orion triangle—regardless of where they're originally from. The stories that had been told about the Orions. . .no, Aaen told himself, forget the stories. The Intelligence reports said plenty. The fact the Orions' leader wanted to talk was not a sign that the Station's crew could expect to get any shut-eye later.
Admiral Jensen took a deep breath, then faced the front of the bridge, "Open a channel—on screen."
Several beeping sounds indicated the order was being carried out. Aaen looked at the main viewscreen with mixed feelings of anxiety and anticipation. A curious sensation, he noted but tried to stay calm. He chose to remain determined as he checked all three of his computers to make sure the engines were all still online and adequately powered. He kept reminding himself of the Intelligence reports he had read, and what he had heard from those who write those reports. . . Everything's online and standing by, he realized to his relief. All they needed was a course order.
The Captain gestured for the bridge crew to resume what they were doing.
The main viewscreen showed a male in his late 40's—Aaen guessed—dressed in a red beret with a metal patch over the left eye Aaen didn't recognize, wearing bomber sunglasses and a heavily decorated woodland camouflage jacket, and whose face showed a plain look that made Aaen's stomach churn with terror. Whichever ship he was on, its bridge was mostly red—given its alert condition, and whose decor was very dark and forbidding. Several similarly dressed—though much less decorated—pirate crew members were rushing to different areas doing similarly as the Magellan's bridge crew. "Well, well, well. . .What-do-we-have-here?" His tone was as dark as his bridge.
"I am Admiral Jensen, in command of the DSS Magellan."
"Soo, The Union sends an Admiral and a Space Station to my front door. . . Well, Admiral, I'll make this really-easy-for-you: You surrender yourself and your crew, and your Space Station to the Orions'. . .and I'll let some of your crew live as slaves, the rest will be ejected into space, and your Station—and that other ship you have docked. . .that. . .Ranger. . .will both become my-personal-property. Refusal will be. .bad, for your health."
"We know what you're trying to do with the Vortex data. I won't allow you to carry out your plans, Maddog." That was the sharpest and most authoritative response Aaen had heard from her since the mission began. He adjusted his position in his seat again, resting his hands over his computer interfaces, staying ready to act. His gut told him stuff was about to go down.
"Death to The Union!" The line closed abruptly.
"They're getting closer!" Another alarm sounded, this one more sobering, "They're locking weapons!"
"Captain, shields are up! They're coming straight-at-us!"
"Lock all weapons on targets!"
"—Holy cow! Lotsa targets!—Weapons locked!"
"Warning: weapons lock has been established." the Main Computer droned.
Lieutenant Hammond snapped, "Confirmed!"
"Target engines, shields and weapon systems!—FIRE AT WILL!"
The main viewscreen filled with a flood of bright, glowing particle beams and torpedo warheads seemingly locked onto the bridge.
"INCOMING!"
"ALL HANDS: Brace for—"
The shields shined violently as the deck plating shuddered and the lights flashed erratically with the thundering sound of explosions and the groan of struggling bulkheads.
"Damage report!" the Captain demanded.
Aaen observed Damage Control struggling to stay upright and read the information displayed on their screen as it shined on their face amid the shuddering. "Shields sustained a direct hit to shield grid Bravo! No hull damage!"
"Shields-are-holding! Minor hull stress on the secondary and outer docking rings!" Ensign Sorenson declared boldly. "Firing-ALL-WEAPONS!" Another flurry of alarms flooded the bridge the main viewscreen showed circular torpedo launchers all over the Station's hull rotated sharply and dozens of large fiery-red antimatter warheads shot violently at their targets. Numerous swarming Orion ships maneuvered sharply in various directions.
Aaen noted the large green mass started breaking up; those ships began passing by the Station on the port side. Lieutenant Hammond made the announcement to the rest of the bridge. Aaen thought his heart skipped a beat.
More brightly-colored weapons pummeled the Station. "They're attacking from nearly every freaking direction!" Ensign Sorenson announced frantically. "THEY'RE ALL OVER MY SCREEN! IT'S LIKE I'M ALMOST FIRING ON A SINGLE SOLID OBJECT!"
"KEEP FIRING! WE CAN'T LET THEM GET PAST US!" the Captain commanded. "Ensign Henderson, tell the other ships to take up strategic position around us and FIRE-AT-WILL—"
More hull shuddering rattled the bridge.
"Shield grids two through four are holding! Grid one's taking a freakin' beating, Admiral! They're down to 97 percent!"
More hull shuddering—
"Let's get the Ranger out there!" Aaen suggested emphatically.
The Captain snapped to give the order; work frantically began immediately.
"Multiple confirmed direct torpedo impacts on multiple Orion targets! They just lost about TWENTY OF THEIR SHIPS! DETECTING ABOUT A HUNDRED ESCAPE PODS LAUNCHING!"
The bridge filled with screaming cheers. The main viewscreen filled with nearly blinding flashes of sharp, frantic weapons fire. Aaen noted a change in the Orion legion's attack formation. The hull shuddered again. Aaen started wondering how much longer the Station's shields were going to protect them despite rapid, violent shots in every direction. Numerous large fiery explosions filled the main view screen as jagged smoldering metallic debris scattered in every direction over the Stations shield grids. Jagged white bolts of lightning shot from the shields wherever debris impacted and deflected in various directions.
"GOOD SHOOTING, ENSIGN!" Aaen yelled emphatically. The Station's cannons were carving up the Orion legion with impressive ease, so far. . .Aaen noted as he eyed the readings on his computer screens. They haven't hit the engines. . .and they won't. Heck, they'll avoid them. . .Aaen reasoned. That can only mean ONE THING! He watched the battle taking place on the main viewscreen, silently cheering on Ensign Sorenson as a flood of burning metallic debris drifted quickly into the Station's shields, or around the Station.
A dense wave of torpedoes hammered the Station from every direction, and another sharp and violent series of hull shudders sharply jolted the bridge crew into their desks; the lights dimmed almost instantly to a near blackout.
Multiple alarms sounded. Dual rotating red lights on the ceiling activated.
"REPORT!" the Admiral demanded, struggling to get back into her chair.
"—URGH!—" Damage Control tried to get upright. "DIRECT HIT! ALL SHIELD GRIDS! THEY JUST SHOT OVER A HUNDRED-THOUSAND MEGATONS OF ANTIMATTER WARHEADS AT US! DETECTING ERRATIC POWER FLUCTUATIONS THROUGHOUT THE SHIELD GRID!"
"ENSIGN SORENSON!"
"ALL SHIELDS ARE DOWN FIFTY PERCENT!"
"MAIN POWER'S FLUCTUATING!" Damage Contol announced.
The Bridge Engineer snapped, "HULL STRESS IS SPIKING! LIFE SUPPORT'S FAILING ON DECKS TWENTY-FIVE THROUGH FORTY! RECOMMEND EVACUATING SECTIONS ONE-THROUGH-TWELVE ON THOSE DECKS!"
"Chief of Ops! Work with security! DO IT!" the Admiral fiercely commanded.
"I'm on it!"
Aaen screens sparked. "Admiral, we're gonna lose transwarp capability REAL SOON if the hull stress isn't reduced!"
"Sorenson! KEEP FIRING! ALL WEAPONS!"
*****
Steve H. told Jordan Foutin, "You are the next Tom Clancy. You really are a gifted writer."
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